Under the Frost
by Jetmoon
Summary: Complete:: The fight was over. For him, at least. Hers was just beginning.
1. Cold

It was cold.

But it wasn't because of the weather that Jack had come here. He was making sure his job was done right. Usually he didn't have to do anything, just let the day run its usual course. But things can always go wrong. An idle comment can change everything...

It was dusk, and he strained to see in the dull light. The sound of arguing drifted to his ears, high and angry. He shivered slightly in the cold, waiting. Skeletal trees stretched upwards all around him, shadows in the dark.

A single gunshot rang through the icy air. The silence that followed was as chilling as the snow that lay at his feet.

Smiling grimly, he left his hiding place and hurried from the park, feet crunching in the fresh snow. The eighth person to die in the last two days. Possibly a record. Yesterday (Two days ago for Jack), there had been a pile-up. Six people dead on impact, the seventh in the hospital. A tragedy.

He knew that Davis would ring him soon. Every time a body came into the morgue, he got a call on his mobile. Davis would rave into the phone, asking why he did this.

Demanding to know where Tru was.

Jack never said anything. Just listened, waited. Davis would always hang up when he ran out of steam.

The cargo area of the docks was a maze of shadows. He came here most days, to see her. Jack didn't use to be like this, loving what he did. But then, he had never had a clear run before. The harsh smell of rust and brine seared his nostrils, the stench sharper than usual.

He missed the challenge. But he would not admit that, even to himself.

No one was around. There never was. A bag of rolls swung from his left hand. Long ago, he had wondered idly if this was the right way to deal with things. Now, he didn't care. Guilt was a rare emotion for him. Hidden amongst the abandoned shipping containers, long forgotten, was a small derelict house. Weeds and vines clawed up the crumbling walls. Smiling, he opened the door.

Today she did not even glance up. When he had first brought her here, she had looked up in hope every time he had entered. Thinking it was Harrison, Davis, or even the police. Her voice had been hoarse from yelling then. Now, it cracked from lack of use.

"So...Who died today?" she always asked. He didn't ask how she knew it was a rewind day. When one of them went back, so did the other. Jack locked the door behind him, then began to untie her from the chair. He noticed she had once again rubbed the skin from her wrists. The wounds bled sluggishly as he struggled with the rope. "An accident. Guy got in the way of a bullet meant for someone else. Killers ex, actually." He laughed. "Sounds a bit trivial, doesn't it?"

"Everything is to you, Jack"

He pulled the rope from her bloody hands, slowly unwinding the coils from her emaciated body. He had discovered that Tru was far stronger then she looked, nearly breaking free several times. She had solved the problem herself when she had stopped eating. Her arms and legs were mere skin and bone, fragile as dead twigs.

"What's that supposed to mean?" there was a sharp edge to his voice.

She was deathly pale, making her skin look dirtier than it really was. Hair hung lank and dead beside her sunken face. He remembered when she had first been brought here, her eyes burned with hatred, so bright. Endless shadow echoed in her hollow eyes now. Crackled lips split as she whispered softly.

"Life should mean more than that"

He laughed derisively. "Why should it? Death is inevitable. Who cares if it comes sooner or later? Life always ends."

She was silent. He rose and leant against the wall, watching her. He sometimes wondered if a person could simply will themselves to die. Tru was.

He would not let her die.

"Here." He placed three bread rolls on her lap. She stared at them blankly. "Eat. I'm not leaving until you do."

"How are they?" He did not need to ask who she was talking about.

"If you eat, I'll tell you." Her shoulders sagged, and she bit into the stale roll. There was silence as she mechanically ate. When the first roll had disappeared. He began to speak.

"Davis is his same old self. Raving into the phone every time a body comes in. The police are still investigating him about your disappearance, you know."

Tru looked at him, dead eyes expressionless. "What about you?"

Jack shrugged. "They think I'm dead."

"Harrison?" He said nothing, gazing at her levelly. She bit distastefully into the bread roll. Jack waited. When the last crumb had disappeared, he checked his watch.

"He'd be dead by now. At least, if things went like yesterday."

The last bread roll tumbled from her lap. She lent forward as though wracked with pain, her mouth opened in a silent scream.

"You know this gives me no pleasu-"

"Liar" she snarled. Tears left dirty tracks across her cheeks. A choked sob fell from her lips, and her body quivered with misery. Jack moved forward. She hit out at him as his arms wrapped around her, but the blow was tired. Feather light, and too weak to pull away, she leant against him, defeated. Gently, he took her through a door in the left wall.

It lead to a dirty bathroom that reeked of old filth. Unidentifiable stains clung to the walls. A dirty toilet huddled in the far corner, next to a cracked shower. Jack leant Tru against a wall. The showers plumbing was as old as the house, and creaked loudly as he turned on the taps. Lukewarm water spurted outwards in a sudden gush. He turned back to her.

"Wash. There are fresh clothes in the corner." He left her there, staring blankly into space. He did not bother to make sure she did as she was told. She had refused once.

Just once. The memory of that night troubled him sometimes.

It had been a while. Jack checked his watch. 15 minutes. Too long. He thumped on the door. No answer.

He forced the door open. Tru was under the stream of water, fully clothed. Her eyes were closed, skin dead white, lips blue. Jack swore then pulled her from the water, gasping at its icy spray. The cold water tap had been twisted to its limit. She collapsed in his grasp, unconscious. He pulled the freezing clothes from her body, swearing again. She was too cold. He frantically tried to rub life into her skin.

It was not the first time Tru had tried to take her life.

She stirred beneath his fingers. Eyes flickered open, and she stared at him hopelessly.

"Why won't you let me die?"

He had no answer.

Jack dressed her in the dry clothing. She did nothing to help or hinder him. Lifting her from the damp floor, he took her to the small bed nestled in the corner. She was still when he placed her on the soft surface, asleep or unconscious, he couldn't tell. Jack sat on the rickety chair, head in his hands.

It was ironic, what he did. Life was kept alive by death. He could not let Tru die because if he did, there would be no need of him. No more rewind days. While he would not have minded, he did not know if someone else would come. Just like Tru had done when her mother had been killed. A mistake had cost Richard dearly.

At least, that's what he told himself.

In his heart, it was more than that. His need for her was more than simple necessity, even love. She was his other half, the flip side of the coin. Without her, he was nothing.

He lay beside her on the small bed. Her thin, pale face seemed as lifeless as the dead that came into the morgue. Jack stroked her sad face, then closed his eyes.

Outside, in the cold, police zipped Harrison into a body bag. There was no-one to listen if dead flesh was animated into a strange semblance of life. No-one to rewind and give him a second chance. One of the policemen shivered.

It was getting colder.

* * *

sigh...stupid thing wouldn't go to the format I wanted. oh well. Email me if you want it in original form. 


	2. Blood

A week later, Jack had forgotten about Harrison. Tru seemed little more than a ghost now, staring blankly at a horizon Jack could not see. She could not be pulled from this waking sleep.

Not even pain had made her see him.

She had not stirred when he went out into the cold that Tuesday morning.

Davis had not called him.

Maybe the sight of Harrison dead on the cold metal table had silenced him. Or perhaps he had decided that Jack was not always responsible for the dead. But that did not seem like Davis…

The sky was barely tinged with grey as he left the little house in the docks. Tru was curled on the bed, handcuff tight on her left wrist, stretching like an umbilical cord to the metal bed frame. He had been lenient, to leave her like that. When he had first brought her here, Jack had bound her to the rickety chair every time he left her. He took a deep breath, the smell of fish harsh in his nose and throat.

The icy air grated inside his chest, chilling him from within as he walked along the lifeless streets. The soft snow gave way beneath his hard boot, the wet crunch echoing in the silent air. He rubbed his hands together. A ghost of a memory flickered through his head, and for a second he remembered how warm her skin had feltbeneath his hands…Jack pushed the thought away quickly.

It does no good to dwell on the past.

* * *

The morgue was empty, windows black and shadowy. Jack paused at the locked front door, then slipped around to the back.

Something was wrong.

There had always been someone at the morgue. Or at least, there had been, before he had taken Tru. He remembered how he had slipped behind her as she typed on the computer, long brown hair shining in the cold white light. How she had somehow sensed him behind her, half turning as he pushed the wet cloth against her face.

How she had struggled, even as the chloroform had dragged her into the darkness…

Jack wandered towards the back door, not caring if he was seen; who would remember the dead mans face off TV? It must have been nearly a year since the flickering screens had showed his picture.

A vagrant was searching through a dumpster, apparently oblivious to the stench of rotting flesh. She ignored the approaching man, pale eyes intent on the filthy garbage spread before her. Jack tried the back door. It was locked tight.

Unusual.

"There ain't now one there."

Jack turned slowly. The girl was staring at him with those strange intense eyes, clutching a carrot in her scrawny hands.

He cocked his head slightly.

"And why would that be?"

The girl raised her eyebrows. "You ain't heard? The guy who ran it kidnapped 'n murdered some woman. Police got him about a week ago." She shivered slightly.

"Probably all those dead people 'e saw. Screws a guys brain up, don't it?"

And then she was gone, flitting up the alley like a ghost. Jack looked after her, eyes dark.

"It does." He said softly.

* * *

The snow was squelching under his feet. It was beginning to melt in the strangely warm sunshine. People were beginning to move about, starting their day. As Jack passed them, he wondered idly if any would die that day, lifeless eyes turning to him for their salvation.

He took of his jacket as he entered the docks.

The little house came into view from behind the shipping containers, windows dark.

The door creaked slightly in the wind, tapping softly on the wooden frame. It was open.

Jack broke into a run and tore the door open. The hand cuffs lay alone on the bed, stained with blood.

She was gone.

Jack stared at the bed for a moment, stepping into the house. Something crunched beneath his feet. Looking down, he saw small shards of glass, twinkling like snow in the faint light.

Shaking his head, Jack felt almost amused. She had struck when he had been least vigilant, lulling him into believing she was defeated. After so long, he had finally made the vital mistake.

The window above the bed had been broken, sharp glassing spearing the air with deadly points. He only glanced at it before reaching under the bed. Huddled in the shadows was a small box, faded with age.

He was not really worried about where she had gone. It had been too long, too much time in the darkness. Too much time with Jack. He knew where she was going.

Jack opened the box with a small, grim smile.

* * *

It was almost dusk before she appeared at the graveyard. The orange sunset made her skin seem deathly pale, a ghost among the living. Her walk no longer had it's brutally determined step, but rather the quiet stumble of someone who is not quite sure where they are headed.

From the stand of trees Jack watched. His finger traced down the handle of the object in his pocket. He had been right. He watched as she knelt in front of Harrison's grave, tears sparkling in the fiery light of the setting sun.

Tru didn't look up as he came to stand beside her. She rested her hand on the soft, freshly laid earth, tears trickling down her bloodless cheeks. Jack said nothing, quietly pulling the gun from his pocket. It was a hollow threat; he didn't need to use it.

She stood, eyes lingering on her brothers grave.

"How long can this go on?" her voice was soft, sad.

"Forever, if it must."

She turned, and he saw only darkness in those hollow eyes.

"If it must."

She lunged forward, with speed that defied her weakened state. Jack stepped back in shock. Her lithe body collided with him, small bony hands wrapping around his neck.

A single gunshot rang through the icy air. The silence that followed was as chilling as the snow that lay at their feet.

Tru whimpered as the bullet lodged in her stomach; blood spilled through the gaping hole, dripping onto the white snow. The burning red drops almost seemed to smoke as they sunk into the frost, like drops of wine on white cloth.

Jack grabbed her as she began to fall, dropping the gun to the hard earth. She slid like water through his hands, slipping to the ground. He bent over her, pressing down on the wound, trying to save her.

He would not let her die.

Tru's limp hand rose, something glittering in her bloody palm. The shard of glass that had saved her from the little house, tearing at her skin until her hand could slip through its metal collar, freed her again. She plunged it into Jacks chest.

Blood spat out of his wound, burning like acid on her skin. Then he was gone, tumbling away from her. It had been an unlucky blow, spearing him to the centre of his dark heart. She heard him fall to the ground, but her head would not turn.

She had not meant to kill him.

Tru stared up at the sky, watching as the first stars flickered into being. They alone seemed to glow, burning in the dark fog that was drifting in front of her eyes...

* * *

It was early morning when a jogger found the bodies of two ghosts.

Jack Harper, a man who had jumped of a bridge a year ago. And Tru Davies, a woman who had vanished 10 months earlier.

The police came, red and blue lights dancing across the frosty ground. They whispered as they stalked like wraiths around the bodies, eyes wide as they tried to understand what had happened.

There was a bullet in her stomach, a shattered piece of glass deep within his heart. They took away Jacks body, but seemed reluctant when it came to Tru Davies.

Jacks eyes had been clamped tightly shut. She stared towards the sky, watching the dawn. Tears and drop of blood had frozen on her cheeks, glittering as she rested on her brothers grave.

Gently, they placed her inside a body bag. For a second, as a policeman pulled up the zip, he thought he saw her smile.

Finish

* * *

This was originally one-shot, for those who were interested. But people seemed to think it was unfinished, which sparked this second part. 


End file.
